Nine Little Goslings

Susan Coolidge

Description

WHEN a little girl is six and a little boy is six, they like pretty much the same things and enjoy pretty much the same games. She wears an apron, and he a jacket and trousers, but they are both equally fond of running races, spinning tops, flying kites, going down hill on sleds, and making a noise in the open air. But when the little girl gets to be eleven or twelve, and to grow thin and long, so that every two months a tuck has to be let down in her frocks, then a great difference becomes visible. The boy goes on racing and whooping and comporting himself generally like a young colt in a pasture; but she turns quiet and shy, cares no longer for rough play or exercise, takes droll little sentimental fancies into her head, and likes best the books which make her cry. Almost all girls have a fit of this kind some time or other in the course of their lives; and it is rather a good thing to have it early, for little folks get over such attacks more easily than big ones. Perhaps we may live to see the day when wise mammas, going through the list of nursery diseases which their children have had, will wind up triumphantly with, Mumps, measles, chicken-pox, - and they are all over with 'Amy Herbert,' 'The Heir of Redclyffe,' and the notion that they are going to be miserable for the rest of their lives!

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819906308
• Langue: English

Extrait

CURLY LOCKS.
WHEN a little girl is six and a little boy is six,they like pretty much the same things and enjoy pretty much thesame games. She wears an apron, and he a jacket and trousers, butthey are both equally fond of running races, spinning tops, flyingkites, going down hill on sleds, and making a noise in the openair. But when the little girl gets to be eleven or twelve, and togrow thin and long, so that every two months a tuck has to be letdown in her frocks, then a great difference becomes visible. Theboy goes on racing and whooping and comporting himself generallylike a young colt in a pasture; but she turns quiet and shy, caresno longer for rough play or exercise, takes droll littlesentimental fancies into her head, and likes best the books whichmake her cry. Almost all girls have a fit of this kind some time orother in the course of their lives; and it is rather a good thingto have it early, for little folks get over such attacks moreeasily than big ones. Perhaps we may live to see the day when wisemammas, going through the list of nursery diseases which theirchildren have had, will wind up triumphantly with, "Mumps, measles,chicken-pox, – and they are all over with 'Amy Herbert,' 'The Heirof Redclyffe,' and the notion that they are going to be miserablefor the rest of their lives!"
Sometimes this odd change comes after an illnesswhen a little girl feels weak and out of sorts, and does not knowexactly what is the matter. This is the way it came to JohnnieCarr, a girl whom some of you who read this are already acquaintedwith. She had intermittent fever the year after her sisters Katyand Clover came from boarding-school, and was quite ill for severalweeks. Everybody in the house was sorry to have Johnnie sick. Katynursed, petted, and cosseted her in the tenderest way. Cloverbrought flowers to the bedside and read books aloud, and toldJohnnie interesting stories. Elsie cut out paper dolls for her bydozens, painted their cheeks pink and their eyes blue, and made forthem beautiful dresses and jackets of every color and fashion. Papanever came in without some little present or treat in his pocketfor Johnnie. So long as she was in bed, and all these nice thingswere doing for her, Johnnie liked being ill very much, but when shebegan to sit up and go down to dinner, and the family spoke of heras almost well again, then a time of unhappiness set in. TheJohnnie who got out of bed after the fever was not the Johnnie of amonth before. There were two inches more of her for one thing, forshe had taken the opportunity to grow prodigiously, as sickchildren often do. Her head ached at times, her back felt weak, andher legs shook when she tried to run about. All sorts of queer anddisagreeable feelings attacked her. Her hair had fallen out duringthe fever so that Papa thought it best to have it shaved close.Katy made a pretty silk-lined cap for her to wear, but the girls atschool laughed at the cap, and that troubled Johnnie very much.Then, when the new hair grew, thick and soft as the plumy down on abird's wing, a fresh affliction set in, for the hair came out insmall round rings all over her head, which made her look like ababy. Elsie called her "Curly," and gradually the others adoptedthe name, till at last nobody used any other except the servants,who still said "Miss Johnnie." It was hard to recognize the oldJohnnie, square and sturdy and full of merry life, in poor, thin,whining Curly, always complaining of something, who lay on the sofareading story-books, and begging Phil and Dorry to let her alone,not to tease her, and to go off and play by themselves. Her eyeslooked twice as big as usual, because her face was so small andpale, and though she was still a pretty child, it was in adifferent way from the old prettiness. Katy and Clover were verykind and gentle always, but Elsie sometimes lost patience entirely,and the boys openly declared that Curly was a cross-patch, andhadn't a bit of fun left in her.
One afternoon she was lying on the sofa with the"Wide Wide World" in her hand. Her eyelids were very red fromcrying over Alice's death, but she had galloped on, and was nowreading the part where Ellen Montgomery goes to live with her richrelatives in Scotland. "Oh, dear," sighed Johnnie. "How splendid itwas for her! Just think, Clover, riding lessons, and a watch, andher uncle takes her to see all sorts of places, and they call hertheir White Rose! Oh, dear! I wish we had relations inScotland." "We haven't, you know," remarked Clover, threading herneedle with a fresh bit of blue worsted. "I know it. It's too bad.Nothing ever does happen in this stupid place. The girls in booksalways do have such nice times. Ellen could leap, and she spokeFrench beau tifully. She learned at that place, you know, theplace where the Humphreys lived." "Litchfield Co., Connecticut,"said Clover mischievously. "Katy was there last summer, yourecollect. I guess they don't all speak such good French.Katy didn't notice it." "Ellen did," persisted Johnnie. "Her uncleand all those people were so surprised when they heard her.Wouldn't it be grand to be an adopted child, Clover?" "To beadopted by people who gave you your bath like a baby when you werethirteen years old, and tapped your lips when they didn't want youto speak, and stole your Pilgrim's Progresses? No, thank you. Iwould much rather stay as I am." "I wouldn't," replied Johnniepensively. "I don't like this place very much. I should love to berich and to travel in Europe."
At this moment Papa and Katy came in together. Katywas laughing, and Papa looked as if he had just bitten a smile offshort. In his hand was a letter. "Oh, Clovy," began Katy, but Papainterposed with "Katy, hold your tongue;" and though he lookedquizzical as he said it, Katy saw that he was half in earnest, andstopped at once. "We're about to have a visitor," he went on,picking Johnnie up and settling her in his lap, – "a distinguishedvisitor. Curly, you must put on your best manners, for she comesespecially to see you." "A visitor! How nice! Who is it?" criedClover and Johnnie with one voice. Visitors were rare in Burnet,and the children regarded them always as a treat. "Her name is MissInches, – Marion Joanna Inches," replied Dr. Carr, glancing at theletter. "She's a sort of godmother of yours, Curly; you've got halfher name." "Was I really named after her?" "Yes. She and Mamma wereschool-friends, and though they never met after leaving school,Mamma was fond of her, and when little No. 4 came, she decided tocall her after her old intimate. That silver mug of yours was apresent from her." "Was it? Where does she live?" "At a placecalled Inches Mills, in Massachusetts. She's the rich lady of thevillage, and has a beautiful house and grounds, where she lives allalone by herself. Her letter is written at Niagara. She is going tothe Mammoth Cave, and writes to ask if it will be convenient for usto have her stop for a few days on the way. She wants to see herold friend's children, she says, and especially her namesake." "Oh,dear!" sighed Johnnie, ruffling her short hairs with her fingers."I wish my curls were longer. What will she think when shesees me?" "She'll think "There is a little girl, and she has alittle curl Right in the middle of her forehead; When she is goodshe is very, very good, And when she is bad she is horrid – " saidDr. Carr, laughing. But Johnnie didn't laugh back. Her liptrembled, and she said, –"I'm not horrid really , am I?" "Nota bit," replied her father; "you're only a little goose now andthen, and I'm such an old gander that I don't mind that a bit."
Johnnie smiled and was comforted. Her thoughtsturned to the coming visitor. "Perhaps she'll be like the richladies in story-books," she said to herself.
Next day Miss Inches came. Katy was an experiencedhousekeeper now, and did not worry over coming guests as once shedid. The house was always in pleasant, home-like order; and thoughDebby and Alexander had fulfilled Aunt Izzie's prediction bymarrying one another, both stayed on at Dr. Carr's and were as goodand faithful as ever, so Katy had no anxieties as to the dinnersand breakfasts. It was late in the afternoon when the visitorarrived. Fresh flowers filled the vases, for it was early June, andthe garden-beds were sweet with roses and lilies of the valley. Theolder girls wore new summer muslins, and Johnnie in white, hershort curls tied back with a blue ribbon, looked unusually prettyand delicate.
Miss Inches, a wide-awake, handsome woman, seemedmuch pleased to see them all. "So this is my name-child," she said,putting her arm about Johnnie. "This is my little Joanna? You'rethe only child I have any share in, Joanna; I hope we shall loveeach other very deeply."
Miss Inches' hand was large and white, withbeautiful rings on the fingers. Johnnie was flattered at beingpatted by such a hand, and cuddled affectionately to the side ofher name-mamma. "What eyes she has!" murmured Miss Inches to Dr.Carr. She lowered her voice, but Johnnie caught every word. "Such alambent blue, and so full of soul. She is quite different from therest of your daughters, Dr. Carr; don't you think so?" "She hasbeen ill recently, and is looking thin," replied the prosaic Papa."Oh, it isn't that ! There is something else, – hard to putinto words, but I feel it! You don't see it? Well, that onlyconfirms a theory of mine, that people are often blind to thequalities of their nearest relations. We cannot get our ownfamilies into proper perspective. It isn't possible."
These fine words were lost on Johnnie, but sheunderstood that she was pronounced nicer than the rest of thefamily. This pleased her: she began to think that she should likeMiss Inches very much indeed.
Dr. Carr was not so much pleased. The note from MissInches, over which he and Katy had laughed, but which was not shownto the rest, had prepared him for a visitor of rather high-flownideas, but he did not like having Johnnie singled out as thesubject o